JF Gonzalez - Fetish.wps (16 page)

Rachael sipped at her wine, listening to Daryl. The implications of what he was saying scared her. “Assuming the Indiana murders are the work of the same killer,”

Rachael proposed, “do you think it's possible that he's from that area?"

Daryl sipped his wine, pondering the question. He was silent for a moment.

Finally, he answered. “If we go on the theory that serial killers start close to home, yes, I believe he might be from the South Bend area. As to why the four year gap between those murders and the murder of Leroy Brown in ‘89, I don't know. But if you think about it, it still makes sense. Here you've got a killer who has maybe started killing people in his hometown of South Bend, Indiana. He's horrified about what he's done, but he can't help it. He fantasizes about what he's done, which fuels his obsession. After the third murder, which would have been the prostitute, he stops for awhile in an attempt to control his urges. And he's successful at it for four years. He thinks he has it beat. He lives a normal life. In time, he moves out to Los Angeles. And sometime in the months before he moves out here and when he actually arrives, those long buried urges began surfacing again. He acts on them with the murder of Leroy Brown. How does he get Leroy? Who knows. We know Leroy Brown was a known drug dealer, as were several of the gang members and ex-gang members that have fallen under the Butcher's knife. Maybe our killer is a drug user. In either event, he kills Leroy Brown and is again shocked and horrified at what he's done. He tries to suppress those urges again, and this time manages to control them for the next five years. Then he kills the woman, the victim we've come to refer as The Lady of the Ocean. Maybe she was a prostitute or a runaway. Who knows? In either case the urges were probably coming on strong again, and he was trying to suppress them. He came upon this victim at the right time and acted on them."

“Only this time he kept her,” Rachael said softly.

“Right.” Daryl looked at her, his gaze intense. “He kept her for at least three months. This helped him relive the fantasy of the hunt again. It may have also helped to satiate the urge to go out and get another victim for awhile. Because no sooner than a few months after he dumps her, actually a year or so later, he acts on those urges again and kills Lorenzo Cardena. The urges are coming more frequently now and his loss of control is apparent. He can't control himself."

Daryl was interrupted by the arrival of the waiter with their salads. He looked away for a moment while the waiter set the salads down, and they placed napkins on their laps and prepared to eat. Rachael felt her heart pounding; Daryl was really into this guy's mind. It was a little scary, but it showed that he was really dedicated to apprehending this killer. It was both a scary and an admirable thing to do.

They started eating their salads, which were delicious. Silence reigned for a minute while they ate until Rachael broke it. “So how do you think you're going to catch this guy?"

Daryl didn't answer for a long time. For a moment she was afraid that their conversation on the Butcher case had been the wrong thing to talk about; he was less focused on her and their date and was more focused now on the topic at hand, which was his job. His eyes had that intense look one gets when concentrating on an extremely difficult task. Finally he looked up from his salad and shook his head. “Hard work and a lot of luck. A
lot
of luck."

The rest of the evening went well. At first Rachael thought it was turning into a disaster. During the entire time they ate their salads, Daryl didn't speak. She silently cursed herself for using the Butcher case as a springboard to start conversation. She should have known that this was a big deal to him, and that his career depended on it.

Daryl was silent and introspective as he ate, pausing momentarily to smile at her and trade pleasantries on how good the salad was. By the time they were finished, the main courses were being served and they found themselves making small talk over how fast it arrived. This led into another track of dialogue—favorite restaurants, followed shortly by hobbies and family life. They ate slowly, and Rachael was relieved to discover that this new train of conversation was drawing Daryl out of his shell more. Halfway through the meal, he was his old self again. She relaxed.
No more asking about the case
, she told herself.
Besides, he may think you're just using him to get info on the case so you can
write about it in the paper
.

The fact that the original reason she had flirted with him was to gain inside information and help on the Butcher case didn't bother her. That was then, this is now.

Now I'm really interested in him as a person, as a man who I am interested in seeing on a
social level. I am not going to let our professional lives mix with our personal ones. I will
not use our relationship to advance my career as a journalist
.

For the next hour Rachael learned a lot about Daryl that she rather liked; he had graduated Magna Cum Laude from Long Beach State as a Psychology Major. He had an avid interest in history, particularly the Civil War and the Western Expansion. He loved the films of Sam Peckinpah, and had a soft spot for the old
Gunsmoke
Television show.

He was three years older than she was, having graduated from high school in 1979. He had been a fan of the rock band Styx in high school. Now he liked to listen to jazz fusion and classical music mostly, but he still loved classic rock and roll. He had a pit bull named Petey that he had rescued from a breeder who was planning on training the animal for dog fights—Rachael was especially touched by Petey's story. He loved to read biographies, history, or mystery novels. Blame that on the sleuth in him.

Rachael matched each bit of personal data with some of her own; she touched on her achievements at the
Times
; she made a brief mention of her first marriage to Bernie Jackson, skimming over the details. Daryl nodded, and something in his eyes told her that perhaps he had once gone through a similar experience. She told him she had a strong interest in films, mostly the arty kind that showed at art houses, but she did enjoy the latest blockbusters. She liked to read as well, mostly biographies of actors and actresses, but she enjoyed an occasional suspense novel or two. She claimed to be a fitness buff, confessed to her martial arts training. She also admitted her vice of listening to heavy metal while working out—Daryl got a good laugh out of that one—but the music she most enjoyed nowadays were the singer-songwriter musicians like Tori Amos, Sheryl Crow and John Mellencamp. When she had the time, she loved to cook. She had a pet, although it was a rather unconventional one: she was the proud owner of Nanka, a six foot ball python.

Daryl grinned at her over his half-eaten dish of pasta. “Somehow I can picture that,” he said. “Beautiful woman and snake. Very striking image."

Rachael felt herself blushing. “Thanks. I like Nanka because she's the only animal I've had as a pet that hasn't been selective-bred for the past two thousand years for the sole purpose of sucking up to us humans."

Daryl laughed. Rachael joined him, surprised at the spontaneity of her remark.

“Where did you grow up?” Daryl asked.

“In the south bay section,” Rachael said, picking up a piece of bread. “What about you?"

“Torrance,” Daryl said, grinning. “Small world, huh?"

“Yeah, really."

“What high school did you go to?"

“What high school did
you
go to?"

Daryl regarded her, grinning as he dug into his food. “North High School."

Rachael smiled. “You're right. It is a small world. But then again, you
are
three years older than me."

At that, Daryl tried to pump her for more information on her childhood. Rachael's comments were to the point and sparse. “I pretty much had an unremarkable childhood. I grew up there, hung out at Del Amo mall and Manhattan Beach when I was a kid, all the usual things. I left home after I graduated from high school to go to college and I really haven't been back since. When I moved back to LA, I settled first near South Pasadena, then I moved to Studio City. Been there ever since."

The rest of the evening went by quickly. After dinner, they paid their bill (Daryl had insisted on paying but Rachael refused, saying it was on her—she owed him one, remember?) and wandered down to San Fernando Road where they walked slowly up and down both sides of the busy thoroughfare, talking earnestly, window-shopping, pausing now and then to stray into some of the local shops. San Fernando Road in Burbank, south of the mall, was the latest hot spot for those seeking entertainment, especially on weekends when movie goers attended the Mann's multi-plex, and restaurants along the street had an overflowing capacity of patrons. Record and bookstores lined the boulevard along with art galleries, coffee shops, nightclubs, bars, tattoo parlors, and clothing stores.

It was a nice middle-class crowd, less trendy than Melrose or Sunset Boulevard, and definitely more relaxing.

They spent the better part of an hour wandering the ten blocks of San Fernando Road, eventually heading to the other side of the mall where the Superstores were; Barnes and Noble Bookstore, Ikea, Virgin Record Store. They spent thirty minutes at Virgin Records, browsing.

It was almost ten o'clock when they pulled up in front of Daryl's home. Daryl noted this with a laugh. “My, look at the hour! So late!"

Rachael grinned. “I never thought the day would come when ten o'clock feels late."

“You tired?"

“Not in the least."

“You in the mood for some coffee?"

“Of course."

“Good.” He led her to the house, which she liked quite a bit. The entryway opened to a modest living room, furnished with earthy sofas and chairs. The walls were cream colored, decorated with framed pieces of artwork and photos. The furniture was all neatly arranged and clean. Rachael set her purse down on the black sofa as Daryl went into the kitchen and began rummaging through the cupboards. “Cappuccino okay?"

“I love cappuccino."

“Great."

Rachael noted movement on the patio, and approached the den. A large pit bull was on the back porch looking at her through the glass door, his entire hindquarters swishing back and forth in happiness. The dog whined. Rachael turned to the kitchen.

“Your pit bull must think he's another breed or something."

“What do you mean?"

“He's not leaping at the door trying to kill me.” She laughed, bending down to be eye level with the dog, who started licking the glass door where her face was. She laughed again. “I'm afraid that if you open this door he's gonna slobber all over me."

“You're correct about that,” Daryl said, emerging from the kitchen with two mugs of coffee. “Petey is actually a typical American Pit Bull Terrier because he's been raised and trained properly. Pit Bulls are really loyal, dependable, loving animals. Unfortunately their loyalty has been destroyed by people who have exploited their physical strength and endurance, which is why they've been bred as fighting dogs. They are so loyal to their owners that they'll fight to the death, all to please their masters.” He sat down on the couch and motioned for Rachael to have a seat. Petey stopped wiggling and lay down on the patio, looking inside the house smiling a doggy smile. “If I hadn't rescued Petey when I had, he would have been brought up aggressively, and even if he had been rescued at some point and later adopted out to a family, that tendency would have remained with him. That's why so many of these dogs wind up mauling children; they've been hardwired through breeding and training to attack and kill other animals, and a small child appears as another animal to these dogs. If you encourage that part of their psyche during training, or if you don't work at keeping that part of it down, you wind up with a potentially dangerous animal.” Daryl sipped his coffee and looked out the sliding glass door at Petey, who cocked his head at him questionably. “The kids next door love playing with Petey.

He loves playing with them as well."

“I'm sure they're supervised when Petey is playing with them, though,” Rachael surmised.

Daryl laughed. “Of course. That's where being a responsible dog owner comes in.

I keep Petey in the backyard during the day, and I play with him everyday after work, or we'll go for walks. He gets plenty of exercise and physical interaction with me. Pit Bulls need that kind of activity or they quickly grow bored, and with boredom comes aggression. A pit bull chained up in the backyard all day with nothing to amuse itself with becomes a very dangerous animal."

“Is it true about their jaw power?” Rachael asked, looking out at the backyard at Petey. “That they can really crush bones?"

Daryl nodded. “They're noted for the incredible strength of their biting power.

Once they grab on, nothing can make them let go. They also have an extremely high tolerance for pain. An officer I know had to pry one off of a guy in the Wilmington area and he actually shot it twice at point blank range with a shotgun before it let go of the guy's arm. The poor guys arm was so badly mangled it had to be amputated."

“Jesus!"

“Now that you know that, you'll probably have a heart attack when you see Petey grab my hand in his mouth and pull me outside when it's play time."

They spent the next hour and a half sitting on his sofa sipping coffee and talking more, mainly about the books that were crammed in his bookshelves. Rachael had noticed them while Daryl made the coffee: books on the civil war, various aspects of world and American history, archeology, genealogy, sociology and psychology. There were a few books on crime and serial murder which were resting on the coffee table that she assumed were brand new—probably bought as a result of the case he was currently working on.

There were also several books on street gangs on his bookshelf.

But the book they spent the evening talking about was Graham Hancock's
Fingerprints of the Gods
, a hefty volume that Rachael at first mistook for a book on ancient mythology. As she picked it up and began leafing through it, she saw that it was actually about lost civilizations. Daryl noticed the volume, and the topic of conversation centered on the book. The subject of the book sounded fascinating: using data from archeology, astronomy, and the lore of ancient writings and religions, the author hypothesized that prior to modern civilization, there was a previous, more advanced civilization that was wiped out by a catastrophic natural disaster, and that our present civilization was headed toward another one very soon. It was a fascinating subject, and Rachael found herself lost in it as she leafed through the book as Daryl pointed out various aspects of the theory to her.